


Wanted

by nottinghamroad



Category: X-Men (Movies), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Brief backstories, Charles is emotional, Cuddling, Erik is a Sweetheart, Foot rubs, Heart-to-Heart, M/M, Misspent Youth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-18
Updated: 2014-08-18
Packaged: 2018-02-13 15:25:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2155581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nottinghamroad/pseuds/nottinghamroad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles and Erik are having a night in by the fire and end up talking about their teenage years. It gets emotional.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wanted

**Author's Note:**

> Some intense-ish descriptions of both characters' teen years, more or less in line with the Marvel canon. Includes mentions of abuse, but no explicit descriptions thereof.

Erik swirled the glass of whiskey and took another sip. It was like fire moving down his throat. Disgusting, really, but it helped the flow of conversation. He set the glass down with a dull thunk and stared into the crackling fireplace. He could feel Charles’ eyes boring into him from the chair next to him and felt he ought to avoid eye contact for the time being. 

Charles adjusted his chair so it was facing Erik’s directly. He pulled Erik’s legs into his lap, tugged off his socks, and began massaging his feet. The sigh of satisfaction that escaped Erik gave Charles a hearty chuckle. 

“You need a regular massage, old friend,” Charles remarked, digging his thumbs into the pads of Erik’s left foot. 

“Are you volunteering?” Erik mumbled, taking another sip of whiskey. Charles laughed again. They sat in silence for a few moments. Erik felt himself sinking into a light haze. Whether it was brought on by the whiskey or by Charles’ excellent massage techniques seemed irrelevant, all he knew was that he was slowly feeling like perhaps he might fall asleep in this chair. 

“To answer your question,” Charles began, “my teenage years were no picnic. I suppose no one’s adolescence is really easy.” He followed Erik’s gaze into the fireplace and watched a few sparks travel up the chimney. “Father died when I was young, mother was a drunk, married a stepfather who beat me, so I got out as fast as I could and buried myself in academics. Best escape I could manage, anyways.” Erik made a light scoffing noise in the back of his throat. 

“Some escape, mister I’m-a-brilliant-geneticist-and-everyone-at-Cambridge-hangs-on-to-my-every-word.” Erik’s voice turned sing-song and teasing. Charles dug his thumbnail into Erik’s foot in retaliation.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” Erik yelped, holding his hands up in surrender. “Okay, no academics discussion. We both know you’re brilliant. When did you first-” Erik waved his hand in the direction of Charles’ head. “You know, when did you-” Erik tapped his temple in an imitation of Charles reading someone’s mind. Charles raised an eyebrow. He leaned forward and took the whiskey from the sidetable next to Erik, who whimpered as it was removed. 

“I discovered my power when I was thirteen. I thought my mum was on the phone with my stepfather telling him how much she’d like to be rid of me and how much of a burden I was to her. Turned out she was alone in the living room, just thinking it.” Charles’ brow furrowed involuntarily. Erik slid his legs off of Charles’ lap, leaned forward, and smoothed out the lines on Charles’ forehead with his thumb. The shorter man’s face relaxed, and Erik kissed his forehead, satisfied to have alleviated at least a moment’s worth of suffering. Charles took Erik’s feet in his lap again and resumed massaging them. 

“I know you discovered your power when your mother was taken away-” Charles paused at the sudden flash of anguish across Erik’s face. He pressed forward, gingerly. “But how-how did you escape the camp?” Something dark and murderous flashed across Erik’s eyes. “If you-er-don’t mind my asking?” Charles finished, kneading the arch of Erik’s right foot in an attempt to relax him. Erik inhaled sharply. 

“Shaw.” He spat, his right hand clenching into a fist. “Or Schmidt, as he was known in those days.” Erik bit the inside of his lip and watched the fire. A particularly large spark erupted from the logs, rose rapidly, and then fell into nothingness. “Shaw saw me bend the gate when they took my mother away. Wanted to see how much I could do. Killed my mother in front of me when I couldn’t lift a damn coin from his desk.” A tear was trailing its way down Charles’ stricken face, but Erik wasn’t paying attention. 

“He kept me for two years in some accursed lab-jail-I don’t know what it was. Tried to mold my powers to suit his purposes. Tortured me to make me do what he wanted. But he got cocky. I got ahead of him and escaped. I should have killed him when I had the chance.” Erik spoke the last sentence with a surety that sent a chill down Charles’ spine. 

“From there I was on my own. I lived on the streets, mostly, taking shelter in car parks where I could, or in cottages where a doddering old couple had left the door unlocked. Never hurt anyone. Just survived. Knew I had to kill Shaw at some point, so I planned.” Erik’s voice took on a dull, dispassionate tone as he continued his account. Charles tried to ignore the murderous intent as he asked his next question. 

“Surely-surely you had some family to go to?” He ventured. Erik gave a hollow laugh. 

“All dead. And even if they weren’t, it’s hardly as if they would want me once they knew me.” He waved his hand in a dismissive manner, his eyes vacant and distant. They sat in silence, the fire burning down to its last embers. Charles didn’t know what to say, so he continued his steady rhythm of massaging Erik’s feet as he let the story sink in. 

He blinked several times, releasing several more tears he hadn’t intended to let go. This time Erik did notice, and he immediately sat up in his chair and put his legs on the ground. He slid and knelt in front of Charles. Holding his face in his hands, he gently wiped each tear from his partner’s cheeks with his thumbs. Charles gave a small smile at the tenderness of the gesture. 

“Erik, I don’t mean to detract-” Charles began, but his voice broke and he swallowed hard, unable to continue. “I just wish you knew how much you don’t deserve the life you’ve been given-” Charles managed to choke out, and then swallowed again. Erik brushed Charles’ temples and searched his eyes. 

“You are so well-loved. And by no one more than me.” Charles surprised himself with the stability of his voice as he spoke the phrase. Erik’s grey-green eyes softened and he pulled Charles out of his chair, onto his knees, and into a hug. Charles held him desperately, as if the strength of his embrace would convince him that his search for revenge was in vain and that the acceptance he so desperately craved was right here. 

Erik broke the embrace after a few minutes and gripped Charles by the shoulders. He stared directly into those piercing blue eyes and plucked up the courage to say what he’d been meaning to.

“You are compassionate beyond belief, and you are the best man I know.” And then Erik couldn’t help himself, and he kissed Charles with everything else he wanted to say and couldn’t verbalize. The shorter man smelled like the English Breakfast tea he loved so much and tasted like home. They parted after a few moments. Erik brushed a stray lock of hair out of Charles’ eyes. He took the shorter man’s hand and they both rose to their feet, and Erik led him over to the couch. 

Erik sat with his legs spread slightly and patted the space in between for Charles to sit. He obliged. Erik wrapped his arms around Charles’ shoulders, and Charles sunk into the embrace. 

They watched the fire die down completely, Erik with his Charles and Charles with his Erik.


End file.
